


a practice in self discipline

by TypicalRockstar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Desk Sex, M/M, Marner Contract, Romcom esque, William Nylander's Narrow Escape From a Sex Tape Scandal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TypicalRockstar/pseuds/TypicalRockstar
Summary: “I know, no more sex tapes,” Willy says, almost pouty. Just almost.“No more sex tapes.” Kyle makes a face, the kind where his mouth goes in a line and he’s about to drop a bomb. “But it’s not just that. I — management, we — have a proposal.”Willy looks up again, then, curious. Hesitant, but still realizing he’s still in trouble, he swallows again. “Sure?”“It’s pretty simple. You can’t have a sex scandal if you just don’t have sex.”Willy blinks at him.Kyle blinks back.





	a practice in self discipline

**Author's Note:**

> just to be safe, inherit power imbalance but not really, further explanation in the endnotes

Willy doesn’t have a sex scandal but it’s a near thing.

But like. Relax, it’s not even _ that _ serious. Which is exactly what he tells his parents, once he eventually grows the balls to tell them. It isn’t anything necessarily bad, as far as sex scandals go, anyway. It’s _ tame _, really, compared to other pro athletes’ sex scandals. Really, they shouldn’t be so angry because… because...

_ Fine _ . It was a _ sex tape _, okay? Just a sex tape. 

Besides, who doesn’t have sex tapes these days? Half the league has their nudes floating around the dark web and no one even cares. A sex tape is like, barely a half step above that. It’s not even the sexy kind, like it’s so homemade and terrible that it’s not even hot. A shitty iPhone video in a dim nondescript hotel room, one angle, one shot, no edits. 

Honestly, if it really came down to it, they could probably even deny it was Willy at all. Probably.

But it doesn’t even matter because it doesn’t even get that far. Maybe Willy is irresponsible enough to have a sex tape in the first place, and maybe enough to get it kind of leaked, but he is definitely responsible enough to act before it really gets out.

So that’s how he ends up in his general manager’s Big Boss Office, the one with the purposefully intimidating giant desk and a purposefully intimidating man sitting behind it.

Well, trying to be purposefully intimidating, anyway. It’s about maybe half working right now, which Willy supposes can be applauded for Kyle Dubas standards.

It’s a Friday night in the middle of Toronto summer and Willy’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t have to look at it to know there’s a slew of invites waiting for him but he’s got problems to deal with and he’s _ trying _ to be good. So he ignores them, tries to ignore the buzzing against his leg.

“You gonna get that?” but Kyle says, definitely not ignoring it.

“No,” Willy says, maybe a little too quickly because his voice cracks on it.

“Okay,” Kyle gives him a look. “Then can you put it on DND? It’s distracting and I am trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“I know.” Willy digs his phone out and swipes control center up in one sweep. He pockets his phone again, readjusts until he’s sitting straight. He looks at Kyle with his best behavior in full, wide-eyed and eager to listen and—

“Oh would you cut it out,” Kyle finally huffs, runs a hand over his face and under his glasses. He lets them fall back into place when he’s done. “It’s really hard to bad cop you when you have the whole Mr. Goody Two Shoes thing going on.”

“I think that was kind of the point.” But nonetheless, Willy drops the act so fast it visually leaves him. He sits back into the chair and crosses one leg over the other. 

“Look,” Kyle says, as firmly as he can, “bottom line, we took care of it. Slapped down an NDA and a check, it’s all taken care of.” He holds Willy’s eye contact, musters a hard enough look that goes straight for Willy’s soul. He feels it, he really does, and he maybe sits up a little straighter again. “You’re welcome.”

Willy swallows, blinks at Kyle. “Thanks?” But he clears his throat, regains his bearings. “Thank you,” firmer this time. 

“We have protocol and funds set aside for that kind of thing. Standard risk management.” Kyle shrugs, less of a lecture now, but still a little accusatory. Willy figures he deserves as much, though.

So “Oh,” is all he says.

“But you’ll have to be more careful in the future,” Kyle tries to stare into his soul again so Willy looks at his hands in his lap instead.

“I know, no more sex tapes,” Willy says, almost pouty. Just almost.

“No more sex tapes.” Kyle makes a face, the kind where his mouth goes in a line and he’s about to drop a bomb. “But it’s not just that. I — management, we — have a proposal.”

Willy looks up again, then, curious. Hesitant, but still realizing he’s still in trouble, he swallows again. “Sure?”

“It’s pretty simple. You can’t have a sex scandal if you just don’t have sex.”

Willy blinks at him.

Kyle blinks back.

And after a very quiet moment, Willy bursts into laughter, full on, uninhibited laughter. 

When his laughter finally starts to die down and he calms a little, still catching his breath, he looks to Kyle with a grin still on his face, expecting Kyle to be laughing right along with him. It’s a funny joke, really, and Kyle almost got him there—

Kyle isn’t laughing.

Willy’s smile is very slowly melting right off his face. “Kyle? You’re, uh, you _ are _ joking… right?”

Kyle shakes his head, grim.

Willy is at full-frown phase now. He very cautiously uncrosses his legs, sits up straight again. Maybe even straighter this time.

“For full clarity,” Willy says each word tentatively, “you’re telling me to stop having sex.”

“Celibacy, yes,” Kyle confirms, all business voice and everything. “Just until things calm down around here. There’s already too many buzzwords about us in the media. A scandal is the last thing we need on top of it.”

Willy takes a second to process that, then chooses his next words extra carefully. “So… until Mitchy signs?”

Kyle shrugs, makes a hand wavy motion. “Maybe. Something like that. We’ll let you know.” And it’s with enough finality that Willy maybe starts to enter a mild panic mode.

“Why are you saying it like that, I didn’t agree to anything, you can’t make me—”

“William,” Kyle interrupts, and he really is intimidating, now. Rocketed right up the scale. Impressive, really, but Willy doesn’t have time to focus on it right now because, “we aren’t really asking. We’re telling.”

“I don’t think you can do that,” Willy cycles right into anger, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just order me to… to… to _ do _ that—”

“_Not _do that.”

“—you’re my employer, not my keeper,” Willy huffs, defiant.

“Perhaps not,” Kyle agrees too easily for it to be unsuspicious, “but we strongly recommend that you follow our… prescribed lifestyle choices. For optimal performance, of course,” Kyle hums, all high and mighty and chin up. All ‘I know I already won here’ and throwing it right back in Willy’s face. Asshole.

And well, Kyle does kind of have a point. It is in his best interest. And it is only temporary. And his fault in the first place, to be completely honest. Kyle’s hands are tied and Willy is the one who indirectly tied them. 

So fine, then.

“Okay,” and there it is, acceptance. “I won’t have sex.”

Willy isn’t expecting Kyle to reach across the desk and grab his hand, then. Isn’t expecting him to squeeze it encouragingly. “Good,” he says, genuine. “Stay strong, bud.”

~

Willy makes it almost a whole entire week before he’s barging back into Kyle’s office, unannounced, and honestly not entirely sure that Kyle will even be there. Off season is weird like that, but. Willy has a hunch.

And his hunch is confirmed when he finds Kyle in the middle of his office. As in, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, the top few buttons of his shirt undone and his shirtsleeves hastily rolled up. He’s surrounded by a myriad of papers laid out in some kind of organized mess.

Willy gives him a weird look to match Kyle’s surprised — then confused — one. He scans the papers, recognizes some of them as player profiles, others as graphs and track sheets. Interesting stuff, but—

“Can I help you, William?”

“Yes, actually,” Willy remembers why he’s here and quickly recollects his heat. “I’m over this whole _ prescribed lifestyle _bullshit. I quit. I’m done. Go ahead, trade me, I’m not scared.”

Kyle sighs and makes to get up. “I’m not going to trade you.”

“Yet, anyway,” Willy says, accusatory. “Don’t think I trust you, Kyle Dubas.”

But Kyle rolls his eyes at that. “I already know that you trust me.”

“I just said I didn’t,” Willy argues.

“I know,” Kyle agrees, unphased. He does up the rest of his buttons and carefully unrolls his sleeves. Willy doesn’t notice him grab his suit jacket off a hook until Kyle’s already swinging it on and settling into the chair behind his stupid, giant desk.

“Anyway,” Kyle steeples his hands in front of him, “what can I help you with?”

Kyle looks to Willy, then glances at the chair across him, so Willy takes the cue and sits, maybe falls into the chair with maybe a bit of a thud, admittedly a little petulant.

“I already told you,” Willy says, even as he feels the fight leave him, “I’m out.”

“But what made you arrive here?” Kyle says in that one voice he uses sometimes, airy and not quite judgy but a little too raw, a little too much of making Willy feel like he’s being picked apart and thrown under a microscope.

“I drove here,” Willy mumbles, half hearted and ignoring eye contact.

“William,” Kyle says softer, “help me understand.”

Willy rolls his eyes, then. “I think it’s pretty simple to understand. I need to get laid, I can’t do this whole zero sex thing.” He looks at Kyle then, a little sad, a little desperate. “I cannot live like this, it’s not even living.”

Kyle smiles, just a little, not yet patronizing but certainly getting there. “Oh, you’re being dramatic, there are plenty of virgins your age and they’re perfectly alive.”

“Are they? Are they really? Do they even know what living really is?”

“_Yes_, William, there’s more to life than just sex.”

“Easy for you to say,” Willy pouts, “when you can just go and have it and not wonder how long until the next one.”

Kyle laughs, short and dry, but inevitable anyway. “It’s only been five days.”

“That’s a long time,” Willy argues back, completely serious. “Especially in off season.”

“Maybe this will be good for you,” Kyle drums his fingers on his desk. “You can learn…” he trails off, quite obviously thinking on the spot. “Self discipline? Restraint? Maturity?”

“Wow, that one hurts,” Willy runs a hand through his hair. “I’m plenty mature—”

“Plenty enough to nearly have a viral sex tape,” Kyle interrupts, not intentionally cruel but an apparently necessary reminder. “Look,” he says, nicer now, “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I didn’t think you were capable of. And I genuinely think this will benefit you in the end.”

“But—”

“I have no way of knowing whether you’re sleeping with people or not, Willy,” Kyle says it without the businessy overtones, without the scolding boss act. Just Kyle, all himself. “But I do trust you and I do think you’re capable of this.”

Willy blinks, doesn’t really have any words while he tries to find something hidden in Kyle’s words. A trick, a trap, something. But there is none, and that becomes more apparent with the genuine look Kyle gives him. It’s delicate, but warm, and Willy finds himself resigned.

“Fine,” he says with too-obvious false bravado. “I’ll keep trying.”

Kyle grins, full and big and proud. “I have faith in you.”

~

Apparently, Kyle Dubas has more faith in William Nylander than he should.

To his credit, he lasts a little bit longer this time around. And Kyle knows because Willy likes to do this thing, now, where he sends Kyle a selfie of whatever he’s occupied himself with every evening. Yes, _ every _ evening. And all of them are extra wholesome activities, all very far from the bedroom.

Kyle doesn’t necessarily need the proof, never asked for it, but Willy does what he wants as he pleases. And really, Kyle doesn’t mind the photo of Willy cuddling up with some puppy he found one evening. Not that he’d ever admit it.

So Kyle’s maybe a little surprised when the doors of his office are thrown open in the middle of the afternoon, revealing none other than Willy himself.

“Let me guess,” Kyle says, even as Willy starts to open his mouth. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“I—” Willy lets his mouth hang open, then he closes it, opens it to try again, but pauses again. Finally, “Well. I mean… Yeah?”

Kyle neatly caps his pen and sets it aside. “But you were doing so well.”

“I know,” Willy says, genuinely sad. “But it’s not even that, I just. I’m so _ antsy_, okay? I can’t properly… _ relax_,” Willy settles on the word, even with a bit of a grimace.

“Ah,” Kyle nods, studying him. “Have you tried yoga?”

Willy blinks at him.

Kyle stares right back, completely serious.

“Yoga?” Willy finally says, disbelieving. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Kyle hums, picks up his pen again so he can spin it between his fingers. “I’ll get you enrolled in some yoga classes.”

“I don’t think yoga is the key here,” Willy makes a face. He absently starts to shake his knee. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“You’ll be fine,” Kyle assures him, completely not taking this seriously at all.

“I will _ not,_” Willy insists.

“You _ will,_” Kyle says, firm then. “Go to yoga, go for a run. You can do this.”

Willy groans, loud and hopeless and, okay maybe a hint overly dramatic. But he’d never admit it. “If I die from this it’s really going to suck for you,” is what comes out of Willy’s mouth, albeit muffled from his face so desolately hung in his hands. 

“If you die from lack of intercourse I think I’d have quite a scientific discovery, actually.” Kyle genuinely looks thoughtful, and that’s enough to drive Willy crazy.

“You’re really not taking this seriously, huh?”

“Nope,” Kyle grins, pops the ‘p’ at the end, even. He turns back to his work with an air of finality, focused on his papers again, but he continues. “Just remember we wouldn’t be here in the first place if it weren’t for your sexcapades.”

Willy mouths ‘sexcapades’ just a little disbelieving. He shakes it off. “Well you wouldn’t know if I was sleeping around again or not,” he points out. “So whatever.”

Kyle doesn’t turn to him completely but he does look up again, even if briefly. “No, I wouldn’t, but I don’t think you’ll lie to me.”

It’s not intimidating or anything like that, not like it would be with anyone else. Willy feels his ears heat and hopes his face doesn’t go red, too. He fidgets in his seat, won’t look Kyle in the eye when he says, “I could lie to you.”

Even he hears how false it sounds coming out of his mouth.

~

Here’s the part that really fucking sucks: Kyle is right. 

I mean, sure, he usually _ is _ right. About most everything most of the time, really. But Willy would never say so, not to his face. Lest he inflate Kyle’s ego even more. He’s doing him a favor, really, keeping his head a reasonable size. He’d be docked a significant amount of attractiveness points if he had a disproportionate head. So really Willy is a hero here, preserving Kyle’s proportions and all.

Anyway, Kyle is right in that Willy can’t lie to his face. Whether or not he’s right about the impossibility of dying from sex deficiency is a completely other hypothesis. Results pending.

The yoga and the running kind of helps, but in a way that it just kind of tires him out until he’s too exhausted to focus on his other needs. He’ll go out and have a good time, still. Drink enough, even, but not enough to forget his promises. Go home alone once his friends have picked up. Hit the treadmill until he’s exhausted. Shower, handie, sleep.

It works for a while, but not long enough.

He calls up Kyle for what’s maybe the millionth time in the past few weeks. Kyle makes him wait but he picks up right before it’s about to go to voicemail. _ “Dubas speaking.” _

“I’m suffering,” Willy says straightaway, zero preamble.

_ “Ah, William,” _ Kyle sounds too cheery for Willy to handle right now. _ “How are you?” _

“Suffering,” Willy repeats, draws out each syllable for emphasis. “Absolutely suffering.”

_ “You know,” _ Kyle’s voice goes quieter and a little muffled, _ “I don’t know if you’ve heard of this, but you should try it. It’s called ‘masturbation’—” _

“Jesus _ christ_,” Willy swears, cuts him off. “I _ know _ and I _ do_, you asshole. Okay you know what?” Willy huffs, especially when he hears Kyle scoff, amused, on the other end. “Nevermind.” He hangs up without another word.

He’s even more riled up now and really, just about to implode on himself, when instead he finds himself flipping through his contacts and hitting “call” on a particular one — pointedly _ not _ Kyle — without even fully realizing.

_ “Hey Willy, what’s up?” _ Mitch picks up on the second ring, bless his soul.

Willy almost feels bad, but he also isn’t really thinking when he blurts out, “I’m really going to need you to sign like ASAP.”

_ “Uh.” _ There’s an awkward pause and a bit of shuffling on the other end. _ “Mind your business, maybe?” _ And Mitch sounds a little hurt, a little defensive, and that really wasn’t what Willy meant with all this. 

He backtracks. “Sorry, I mean. Okay this sounds really strange but I have uh, a _ condition, _ that uh, prevents… _ things _… until you sign and there’s less stuff in the media.”

_ “It’s Toronto, there’s never going to be less stuff in the media,” _ Mitch says, flat and still a little bothered. _ “Besides, what are you even talking about? Condition?” _

“I can’t tell you,” Willy says, frustrated, “but it’s really fucking important.”

Mitch sighs, maybe picking up on the genuine desperation here. _ “I mean, I can prod my agent? I guess? But I don’t really think I can help you, man.” _

“Maaarns,” Willy laments, “this is like, life or death.”

_ “If it’s that serious maybe you should mention it to Kyle—” _

“He knows!” Willy is now completely convinced that death is inevitable now, whether it’s from sex deficiency or emotional catastrophe, he’s not picky.

_ “Oh,” _ Mitch says, like everything should be obvious now. _ “Well if Kyle can’t help you then I definitely can’t, that much I can tell you.” _

“You’re all out to get me, I swear,” Willy mumbles.

_ “Cheer up man,” _ Mitch says, not very comforting at all really, _ “I mean, I’ll probably sign before you did, so.” _

“Hey!” Willy interjects, but he’s kind of trying not to laugh, because well, fair. “Low blow man,” with no heat at all.

_ “I don’t know what’s up, but I believe in you buddy,” _ Mitch assures him, _ “hang in there, fam.” _

And maybe this wasn’t a productive phone call for Willy’s, er, _ predicament, _ but yeah alright, he’s in a better mood. At least.

~

Kyle hasn’t really minded Willy’s spontaneous office visits over the last few weeks, but he’s on the phone when he bursts in this time.

“Hey sorry, I think I’m going to have to call you back,” Kyle says into the phone while staring down Willy where he stands, arms as crossed as his expression. “There’s a situation at the office, I’ll call you back when it’s taken care of… Okay, thanks for understanding… Bye bye now.”

Kyle hangs up the phone a little more forcefully than normal, but contrasts it with his most intentionally fake smile ever. “How can I help you today, William?”

Willy glares at him. “You’re purposefully drawing out Mitch’s negotiations to torture me.”

“I am _ not, _” Kyle is genuinely affronted. “How do you even come up with this shit— okay, nevermind,” he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have a seat,” he waves his hand lazily in the direction of what’s slowly becoming Willy’s chair. 

Willy considers protesting by refusing to take a seat, but he eventually complies, battle carefully chosen. He does keep his arms crossed, though, lest Kyle forget he’s upset with him.

“Is this a punishment?” Willy accuses. “Because it’s cruel and unusual.”

“It’s not a punishment,” Kyle says, calm. Much too calm for Willy’s liking.

“Okay then well sign him so he I can start fu—” Willy catches himself, only just a tad wobbly, “_having sex _ again.”

Kyle gives him a pointed look. “You of all people knows how ridiculous ‘just sign him’ sounds.”

And okay, again that’s _ fair_, but Willy doesn’t particularly enjoy it being pointed out to him a second time by a second person. “Can you at least pressure his agent or something? Like why don’t you call him more often.”

Kyle does sigh then, a little put out by all of this. “I was kind of in the middle of that when you so graciously decided to drop in for this pleasant visit.”

Oh. Willy makes a face, just a hint of sheepish. Woops, his bad. “Sorry?” he tries.

Kyle shakes his head, reaches for his glasses and slides those back on. He goes for the phone, next, but looks at Willy first. “Look, I have to call Darren back. Come by later and we can chat more.” He starts dialing. “That okay?’

Willy nods, feels bad now for interrupting Kyle when he has real things to do. “Sure, I’ll swing by later.”

“Good, see you, then.”

~

Kyle sends him a text to come around five, so Willy figures it’s an appropriate enough time to apologize in the best way he knows how.

Food.

He confirms with Kyle, then texts Kyle’s assistant to ask what he should pick up for dinner. She’s pretty helpful, gives him a few options so he can pick something he likes, too. He schedules the pickup time, goes for a run, and by the time he’s done and showered and smelling all nice again, it’s time to go. 

Willy doesn’t quite burst into Kyle’s office this time, but he still preserves his history of grand entrances with a big smile and the clear offering of burgers for what it is. 

“I can’t eat that, it’s not my cheat day,” Kyle says in lieu of greeting, but he’s grinning and practically salivating at the mouth, so Willy knows he’s all talk. 

“This is a peace offering,” Willy says simply, “so you’re not allowed to refuse.”

Kyle shrugs a little, shrugs off his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves, anyway. “That’s true, I couldn’t do that.”

“Nope,” Willy grins, unpacks the containers over Kyle’s desk. He sets a larger one in the middle and uncovers it to reveal a very hefty pile of poutine. Kyle gives him a look that’s probably supposed to be mean, but not really. 

“That’s my favorite one,” Kyle nearly pouts.

“I know,” Willy says like it’s obvious, “that’s why I got it.”

“I mean, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but,” Kyle eyes him carefully, even as he steals a fry. He eats it without breaking eye contact and honestly Willy is kind of impressed. Kyle swallows. “What’s your game here?”

Willy shrugs, shoves a smaller container in Kyle’s direction and then uncovers his own, ready to go in on his turkey burger. “There isn’t a game, I just wanted to treat you for like, I don’t know, putting up with me. And stuff.” Willy trails off, strategically hides behind his burger. 

Kyle is admittedly a little distracted because he’s discovered his own burger. Willy knows he loves that one because his assistant had told him so. Not that Kyle needs to know. But once Kyle takes a bite and is able to process what Willy had said, he just kind of blinks at him with a new kind of clarity. 

“Oh, I mean that’s my job. I’m here for you for anything, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Willy takes a gulp from his water. “But I know I sprung a lot on you with the sex tape and you handled it really well. And then I’ve been kind of annoying throughout the fallout, and well. I don’t take you for granted, you know.”

Kyle smiles a little, just a little on the side. He snatches a couple of fries, dips them further into the gravy. “I know you don’t. And I appreciate it.” He pops the fries into his mouth then, emphasizing his point. “Seriously.”

Willy laughs, and eventually Kyle joins him, content to kick back a little after putting on his serious face all day. It’s easy enough for conversation to flow for them. They are, after all, friends — at least of some sort, somewhere in the middle of all of it. It’s light, it’s easy, it’s nice.

Nice enough that eventually, once the containers have been emptied and tossed, Kyle’s pouring a couple glasses of scotch, sliding one to Willy and ushering him to come join him in the sitting area. The couch is oversized, so Kyle takes one end and Willy drapes himself on the other, comfortable enough.

“This can’t be your good shit,” Willy hums after he’s taken a sip. “Please tell me you don’t give this to other GMs.”

Kyle shrugs, the hint of a grin on his face, cheeky. “Just Jim Benning.”

Willy snorts, and yeah, that’s fair enough. “Good practice.”

“Cheers to that,” Kyle tips his glass in Willy’s direction and they drink.

It’s only one glass, but it’s just enough for Willy to forget to filter, something he admittedly has to do very consciously sometimes. 

“I’m sorry for being so annoying,” Willy says into his empty glass, a little sad. And well, that’s a nice enough start, but then, “I’m just so fucking _ horny_, man. Like so much. I’m twenty-three. It’s _ awful. _”

And Kyle, to his credit, doesn’t laugh _ that _hard. “I’m sure it’s terrible.”

“Isn’t there like, a way I can safely fuck around? Like supervised!” He makes a face when he hears himself say it. “Well, not _ supervised, _ but like,” he tries to think of a better word, and ultimately fails. “_Supervised._”

Luckily, Kyle is fairly fluent in William Nylander by now. 

“I’m not buying you a hooker, Willy,” Kyle manages to say with a completely straight face, and honestly that makes Willy laugh harder.

“Oh my god, I mean, like,” Willy thinks for a second, doesn’t have a particular example in mind. Honestly, he might not even have a particular thought in mind at all, really. But that’s alright, Kyle lets him.

And it works out, because he can clearly see the lightbulb moment flash on Willy’s face when he finally reaches an idea. “I know, I got this,” Willy grins at him, chin up, just a bit cheeky. 

Kyle doesn’t realize he’s come closer, nor that he’s leaning in, until he’s got Willy’s lips on him in full. He’s a little shocked here, and he maybe freezes up before he’s finished processing it. 

After a second, Willy stops suddenly and pulls back. He’s making to get up, murmuring a string of apologies. He’s nearly about to bolt for the door when Kyle snaps out of it and manages to grab his arm and pull him back onto the couch.

“Sorry, I—” Kyle stops, clears his throat, won’t look Will in the eye just yet. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I wasn’t— I mean—”

Kyle tuts. He’s the one who leans in this time, effectively shuts Willy up with a kiss of him own, short and chaste. “Hey, no, that’s okay. Is that what you want?”

“I mean, if you don’t want…” Willy trails off, still won’t look at him.

“I do, though, if you want that. I’m honored you trust _ me _ to help you out. I can do that, if that’s what you want to do.” Kyle pauses, though. “I want to make sure you know that you _ can _ go sleep with someone else, though. It’s just a precaution, it’s not law. Like if that’s what you’d rather do—”

“No,” Willy cuts off his rambling. “I trust _ you _.”

And there’s perhaps a lot loaded into that sentence. Okay, _ definitely _ a lot loaded into that sentence. Kyle swallows, suddenly feeling the full force of it, of something. And he doesn’t fully understand, but he understands enough, and that’s what encourages him to go through with this.

“You’re sure?” One last check.

“Yes, Kyle, oh my god,” Willy groans, less vulnerable and more himself, finally. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it all night. All day, maybe. You know what? All of the last every time I’ve been in here, your desk is fucking _ huge. _”

Ah, the desk. Kyle loves the way Willy thinks.

“Yeah?” Kyle grins, then, feeling himself. “Then why don’t you get on it?”

Willy doesn’t have to be told twice. He kicks his usual chair out of the way and sits right smack in the middle, knees falling to each side. Inviting. Kyle doesn’t miss the cue, walks right up until he can slot himself between them, until he’s standing between Willy’s thighs. 

It’s easier to kiss Willy at this angle, easier to tilt his head back and get a hand on his cheek and position him just the way Kyle wants. Willy lets him, pliant and eager under his hands.

They make out like that for a while, but Willy is little more desperate here. He manages to get his hands between them, on the buttons of Kyle’s shirt. He works them open expertly, slipping each one undone at mega speed. Kyle is kind of impressed. 

He starts to do the same for Willy, but he pushes him off. “I got it,” he says, manages to wiggle his shirt over his head in one easy swoop. Okay, Kyle is definitely impressed now.

Willy isn’t shy about drinking him in, about looking him over and taking his fill. Kyle isn’t a professional athlete, but he tries to keep up to an extent. And by the way Willy licks his lips, he figures it’s good enough.

“You keep feeding me poutine and burgers and this is all gone,” Kyle quips, and Willy breaks out of it, laughs, too. He grabs Kyle by the neck, instead, and pulls him in for more kisses. 

Somewhere along the way, Kyle gets Willy’s pants off and gets him spread out over his desk. His erection is more than obvious, trapped in his skin-tight boxer briefs and staining right in the front. Kyle can’t help it, he leans over him and mouths at it through the fabric, just to hear Willy groan out his name, gravelly and wanton and just for him.

“Come on, just,” Willy manages, frustrated. He yanks at the elastic of his own underwear, manages to yank them down enough to be able to kick them the rest of the way off. 

Kyle inhales, realizes how audible it is only after the fact, when Willy reacts, shifts under his eyes. Kyle moves then, holds Willy in place by his hips and goes down until he can kiss his hip bones, light on each one. Willy tries to squirm, but Kyle holds him there. 

He doesn’t quite suck Willy down, but he takes his tip into his mouth, gently sucks on it just enough to watch it dance for him. Willy has his hands balled up into fists at his sides, his eyes screwed shut, and that’s an image Kyle thinks he’ll revisit quite often in the future. 

But for now, he breathes hot over Willy’s cock and taps his hip twice. “Tell me what you want me to do for you, Willy.”

“Mmm,” Willy considers, breathy and a little out of it. “Won’t you fuck me?”

Kyle’s breath hitches, and Willy grins, just a little, when he hears it. 

“Of course, babe,” Kyle says against his cock. “Anything you want.”

Willy flips over without prompting, lets his legs hang over the edge of the desk. It’s filthy, the image of it, one of Kyle’s star players draped over his desk, presented to him like this. 

It takes a second, shuffling through his work bag to find what he needs. It’s not like he has his stuff readily available, but he’s relieved to at least be prepared. He rolls the condom on and breaks open the lube packet, lets it dribble over Willy’s ass while he gets it on his fingers. It doesn’t take long to open him up, and Willy is eager to help him along. Maybe even a little pushy. Kyle won’t complain.

“Come on, I’ve needed this for_ ever, _” Willy whines, once he feels Kyle pressed against his entrance, teasing. “Kyle, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Kyle hums, pushes in then. Willy is warm and hot and tight around him, pulls him in and clenches around him like he’s afraid Kyle will pull out and leave him empty again.

It’s not long before Kyle starts to lose him in it a little, starts to fuck up into Willy harder, one hand on his hip for leverage and the other pushing down on his back, pinning him down and forcing him to arch his back all nice for him. He’s gorgeous like this, mouth open and panting for Kyle’s cock.

“Almost there, just—” Willy cuts off in a moan. “Please, Kyle.”

And Kyle won’t deny him. He maneuvers them until he can push Willy’s knees up onto the desk, get his up a little bit so Kyle can snake his hand under him and stroke him proper. He dips his thumb into the slit, uses Willy’s own precome to slick up his hand. 

“Go ahead, babe,” Kyle whispers in Willy’s ear, breath hot, “you’ve been so good for me this whole time. Come for me.”

That does it, and a couple stroke later, Willy’s face screws up while he comes, moaning high and uninhibited for him. He squeezes down on Kyle hard, as tight as he can, and inevitably brings Kyle there with him.

It’s a second before either of them come down, before either of them are coherent again. 

“Kyle?” Willy says first, voice small, almost hesitant. 

But Kyle won’t have any of that. He kisses him soft and slow while he pulls out, swallows down Willy’s whimper when he does. He kisses him while he ties off the condom, kisses him just before he parts to throw it away. 

“Feeling better?” Kyle grins at him, tosses him a box of tissues from across the room. 

Willy winces a little as he sits up, but he grins too. He doesn’t answer right away, makes a face as he tries to wipe off the quickly-drying come on his skin. He frowns when it doesn’t quite work, but he shrugs, shoots Kyle another grin. “No dying today.”

Kyle laughs.

~

Although Willy is no longer at risk for death by sex deficiency, he doesn’t stop barging into Kyle’s office without announcement nor appointment. Much to Kyle’s mild annoyance. 

Willy’s motives, however, are entirely different now. 

‘Kyle, come on,’ Willy mouths at a frustrated Kyle, who is kicked back in his chair with his feet on the desk, corded phone stretched so it can be wedged between his shoulder and his ear. 

‘Be patient,’ Kyle mouths back, just before he starts speaking into the phone again. “You know, Jim, I’ll have to think about this one. I’ll call you back, yeah? ...Okay perfect ...You have a good day, too, now, goodbye.”

“Finally,” Willy rolls his eyes, clicking the lock on the door shut just as Kyle rearranges himself to click the phone back on the hanger. 

“You have the worst timing,” Kyle complains, “I had Jim _ hooked _ on that one.”

“You’ll close it eventually,” Willy says with the utmost confidence. He walks right around Kyle’s desk and stands right behind him, hands on his shoulders. Kyle lets him massage a knot out before he cranes up to look at him.

“Well, since you’re here,” Kyle hums, “I _ am _ a little stressed.”

“Hm, I think I can do something about that.”

Willy grins.

_ (end.) _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ***There is inherit power imbalance that's kind of unignorable in this fic because Kyle is Willy's GM/boss, but it's not a plotpoint or anything and it's not used intentionally, but it's also never mentioned or discussed. Everything is completely consensual and enthusiastic
> 
> NOTES:  
I can't find the tweet but it was like "you can't have a sex scandal if you never have sex!" and I quote-tweeted it saying something like "but picture Kyle yelling this desperately at William" and thus here we are!
> 
> Come hang out on twitter @[pinkmanite](http://twitter.com/pinkmanite) for more bad ideas inspired by tweets! (If you're not clearly an RPF account just shoot me a DM to let me know you came from this fic, thank you!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! ❤️


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